Things That Consulting Detectives do
by Hekate1308
Summary: Thank God he brought Sherlock home in time. Otherwise, he would be stuck investigating the murder of the Prime Minister's private secretary, and he has far too much to do for that. Post 3x01


**Author's note: Here's my story to the Prompt "Muuuurder" and after 3x01, I felt I had to write another story from Mycroft's perspective.**

**I don't own anything, please review. **

Thank God he brought Sherlock home in time.

Otherwise, he would be stuck investigating the murder of the Prime Minister's private secretary, and he has far too much to do for that.

Certainly too much to ever feel lonely, like Sherlock suddenly seems to think he is. Simply because his brother decided friends are worth his while doesn't mean they are worth Mycroft's. He's alone; not lonely. There's a difference, a subtle difference that Sherlock probably isn't capable of seeing.

But that is not the point. The point is that Sherlock should definitely answer his phone. Which he has failed to do for the last fifteen minutes.

"Anthea?"

His PA enters his office immediately, and Mycroft sighs, because if Sherlock bothered to be even remotely civil after two years of little contact, he wouldn't have to do this in the first place.

"Check with the surveillance and let me know where my brother happens to be".

She nods and leaves and Mycroft rubs his face.

As if entertaining his parents when they visited wasn't bad enough.

Anthea returns quickly and gives him an answer he didn't expect, despite his brother's sudden interest in "friends".

"He's having lunch with DI Lestrade and Phillip Anderson".

Anderson believed he was alive, but other than that, Mycroft can see very few reasons why Sherlock would want to have lunch with him. Plus, the whole idea of lunch consists of eating something, and he can't imagine his brother sitting down quietly to a meal.

"Where?"

Five minutes later, he is sitting in his limousine, once more trying to call his brother. He has no doubt that Sherlock is enjoying not answering him, simply because he knows that when he does, it is of importance that he should react as quickly as possible.

When he enters the restaurant, he sees Sherlock shaking Anderson's hand – as if his day hasn't held enough surprises already – and Lestrade smiling at the former (no, not former, he obviously just accepted an offer to return to Scotland Yard) forensic tech.

He makes his way over to them and Sherlock frowns.

"Mycroft, I think you will find it universally accepted that if someone doesn't answer his phone he doesn't wish to speak with you".

"That is not of import, Sherlock. The PA of the Prime Minister was killed an hour ago".

Lestrade stares at him.

"Why haven't I hear – of course, no one is supposed to know" he says, somewhat bitterly, and Mycroft, not for the first time, finds himself wondering if he should find a friend, a goldfish, like Sherlock suggested.

He shoves the thought away and instead answers, "quite right. Now, Sherlock, if you would have the kindness to accompany me – "

His voice is dripping with sarcasm and they all know it.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"If you insists" he replies mockingly. "Of course, I will text John – "

"Naturally – "

"And Greg will come with us."

That surprises Mycroft once again, but at least Lestrade seems to be taken aback too. He stares at the consulting detective, and Sherlock huffs.

"You should know by now that it's practical to have a police officer at a crime scene. One can never know when it might be necessary to go through the official channels".

As if there will be any official channels in this investigation. He knows there will be none, Sherlock knows there will be none, and Lestrade knows there will be none. This is all just a way of his brother to show the DI that he values his friendship.

Mycroft resists the urge to roll his eyes. At least Sherlock is somewhat easier to control, if more annoying than formerly.

"Can we go?"

They don't say anything, and he leads the way.

The Prime Minister's PA was killed in his flat; the Prime Minister's chauffeur, who he sent to look if everything was alright when his PA failed to show up to an appointment or answer his phone, found the body. It was lucky he did, because instead of calling the police, he informed the Prime Minister, who informed Mycroft.

They might just get out of this without any scandal or rumour reaching the press.

He gives Sherlock – and Lestrade – the details on the way there.

Sherlock inquires after John, and the British Government replies calmly, "He's being picked up as we speak".

He ignores Lestrade's smile and Sherlock's smug expression.

Really, if this is what friendship entails – ignoring important facts in order to concentrate on sharing pointless smiles – Mycroft can live without it.

They arrive just as John gets out of the limousine Mycroft sends for him, and the doctor acts annoyed as always, even though he is glad to get out of his surgery.

As if they couldn't tell.

"So, what is going on? No one would tell me."

"The Prime Minister's PA has been killed".

"Oh? Well, that should be easy."

Sherlock smirks as he leads the way. If he could choose, Mycroft would rather be in his office – he doesn't think the case will be too complicated, any secret service would have made the PA disappear instead of leaving his body where it was sure to be found, he has been informed that there are no torture marks on the body, therefore no one tried to get anything out of him, and if he was in contact with anyone, Mycroft would have known, so all that is left is chasing the killer down, therefore Sherlock's involvement – but the Prime Minister wants him to be there, so he is.

John takes the time to greet him, because this is what the good doctor does, and he nods.

"I take it you picked Sherlock and Greg up?"

He almost forgot that friends are supposed to tell their friends where they are going, and he nods again.

John remembers something, because he is at Sherlock's side in an instant, demanding to know "how it went".

He wants to know about Anderson, Mycroft realizes. He can't see any merit in a man who was driven to quit his job by an irrational feeling of guilt and subsequently donated his life to find the consulting detective he thought (and should have believed) to be dead.

Ordinary people think differently, he knows. He's a little surprised that Sherlock seems to agree with them.

Maybe his "friends" made him think like this.

Either way, Mycroft doesn't care.

He watches as Sherlock makes his deductions – the PA was killed by a left-handed non-smoker who didn't work for any Government or secret organization, they both can tell that immediately, thank God – when he's startled out of his thought process by Lestrade clearing his throat next to him.

Of course the DI would be the one to reach out to him, like he tried to after Sherlock's "death". He has always harboured somewhat paternal feelings when it came to his little brother, so he feels some kind of kinship with Mycroft. All in all, it's rather predictable.

And yet, it's somewhat – he would perhaps call it endearing, if he were prone to such vocabulary, this perseverance of the Inspector.

"You knew he was alive."

It's a statement, not a question, and Mycroft can't help but wonder why he should tell him to begin with, when Lestrade adds, "It must have been difficult."

For a moment, the British Government considers laughing, because this is how ordinary people think. He knows Lestrade is good at his job, but sometimes he wonders why Sherlock thinks so much of him.

The word "easy" didn't cross his mind in the last two years, but it never does. Nothing is easy, not when one has to work for it. And only the things one has to work for are worth anything.

He hopes that his silence might be enough to convince Lestrade he doesn't want to talk, but instead he continues.

"You missed him".

That this is a statement, neither a question nor sarcasm, is far more surprising, and Mycroft tries to work out when he gave away that he might have missed his little brother, especially since he and Lestrade didn't keep in contact in the last two years.

But he looks at Sherlock, running around the crime scene, the glint he knows so well in his eyes, John following him wherever he goes, smiling, happy for the first time in two years, and as he watches Sherlock peal of a corner of the carpet –

He hates to admit it, but –

He did. He missed Sherlock. He is annoying, but Mycroft certainly had far too much free time he used to spend kidnapping his little brother's associates or going through surveillance protocols, and having time isn't a good thing. It gets one thinking.

He might even have enjoyed that game of Operation with Sherlock. Not that he'd ever tell anyone.

Sherlock announces, "We're off to the Hotel Certon. Your killer is staying there. It's his lover" and then he and John run off and Mycroft doesn't move to follow them, because this is legwork and he still abhors it.

He hears Lestrade laugh beside him.

"It's good to know some things don't change – any chance I can get a coffee around here, since I obviously only came along for the moral support?"

Mycroft looks at him and thinks of goldfish and a little brother with a friend he'd do anything for, and replies, "Of course."

Not because he wants a friend, naturally.

Just because he wants to.

**Author's note: Did I just turn a prompt about murder into a Mycroft character piece? It happens.**

**I hope you liked it, please review. **


End file.
